


Hug It Out

by Miri1984



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/M, Humour, PWP, doug has an everything kink, kind of a few little feelings, porn with embarrassing plot, renee has a voice kink, touch starved therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 10:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Set between eps 30 and 35 or so.





	Hug It Out

“So. Explain to me again what we’re doing here? In short, single syllable words if that’s at all possible.”

She sighs. “I _know_ you haven’t read the manual, Eiffel, but suffice to say that extreme lengths of time without physical touch can and will lead to psychological damage that is potentially detrimental to the mission.”

He rolls his eyes, but also crosses his arms over his chest. “Hera?” he says.

“She’s right,” Hera says, and she is definitely NOT imagining the hint of amusement in her tone. “You guys need to hug to stay alive. Or at least.. Stay sane. For any given measure of sane I mean when it comes down to it I think you’re a few parsecs short of a...”

“Thank you, Hera, we get the picture.”

“I’m just as annoyed about this as you are, Eiffel,” she says. 

“You were happy enough to hug me when I got back from deep space,” he points out.

“I want it on the record that that was because I was worried about you as a superior officer, not because of any personal affection I hold…”

“You’re wounding me, Commander…”

“I am very glad you’re not dead, Eiffel but that doesn’t mean I want to hug you.”

“According to Hera we’re both going to feel better for doing it.”

“And according to Kepler he’ll kill us if we don’t, so…”

He opens his arms, mockingly, and she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Look if you’d rather hug Lovelace or Hilbert I’ll..”

“I think my chances of survival are better with you, to be honest, Eiffel.”

She kicks off and floats towards his open arms, but of course, annoyance and nerves are enough that she misjudges the kick off and when she hits him she slams a lot harder than she should. He lets out a slight ‘oof’ as he hits the bulkhead, and she feels his hand steady her head before it does the same. She’s not exactly sure how it happens but Eiffel’s head ends up buried in her collarbone and she can feel the heat of his breath against her skin as they settle against that bulkhead, then start to gently drift away. His arms have come around her in what could be charitably be called a hug but is more… cradling her against further impacts. She is really fucking embarrassed to realise that there are goosebumps rising that match the path of his hands as he tries… valiantly, to not touch bare skin.

She is suddenly angry. The whole fucking point of this is for them to touch bare skin, it’s what Kepler told them had to happen for “the health and wellbeing of such an excellent crew” may he be fucked resoundly with a helpful chainsaw, so she makes an impatient sound and grabs his hand, putting it against her waist, and wrapping her other hand around his neck, cupping it.

“Oh…” he says. “Oh… _quiznak.”_

“Quiz what?” she says. “That’s… that’s even worse than your usual gibberish.” 

“Apologies Commander,” he says. “But I’m about to form Voltron.”

“I have no idea what any of the words in that sentence mean, Eiffel.” 

His skin feels soft and warm under her hand and she is trying really fucking hard not to let her fingers… wander. But it seems kind of natural and suddenly she’s tangling her fingers in that small bit of hair that curls around the back of his ear and he lets out a _sound_ that _really shouldn’t be allowed._

“Can you… “ his voice is a squeak. “GOD can you _not… do…that... please… Commander....”_ she’s let a small tuft of hair get wound around her finger and she gently tugs, intending to disentangle and pull away, surely this is enough skin to skin contact to make them both healthy but he lets out a sound and bucks and …

..and…

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Eiffel do you _have an erection?”_ The look on his face is guilty and terrified and everything she’s come to associate with Eiffel in the last two years. But when push comes to shove, this is hardly the worst thing she’s ever caught him doing.

“Please,” he squeaks out. _“Please_ don’t kill me.”

“I’m…” her mouth is dry and she tries to tell herself it’s embarrassment. “I’m not going to kill you Doug.”

He swallows. “It’s just. Been. A long time. Since anyone…” he takes a deep shuddering breath. “Anyone other than Doctor Mengele that is, has touched… any… part of me. So. Uh… excuse me for a healthy response to a beautiful woman playing with my hair? I GUESS? Suppose that means the virus hasn’t killed EVERYTHING. Also I’m kind of impressed that I still have the capacity to do that, given how fucking terrified I am of you in general, maybe the doctor’s virus is doing more than regrowing my fingernails...”

She stops. 

“What did you say?”

“I… what? Look you don’t want me to repeat everything I say even I get sick of...”

“What.. did you call me?”

His eyes go absolutely wild at that. “Commander,” he says. “I called you… Commander. That’s what I called you. Yup. Absolutely. No question about it. Sir.”

It’s been nearly three years since she’s seen her husband. She honestly never thought she’d have this problem. Even when Lovelace came on board and she knew there was at least one other person on the ship she could respect, she didn’t think she’d be tempted.

He had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to stay faithful to their relationship, but he wasn’t going to be celibate. And Renee had absolutely understood.

Eiffel’s hand is still on her waist and she is finding it difficult to breathe. There’s been silence for… a long time. Longer than she would have thought possible, with Doug in the room. 

“So,” he says finally. “Do you think… we might have done enough touching?”

She licks her lips, and he watches her tongue with pupils suddenly blown wide. She moves her fingers again, around the shell of his ear. 

He _whimpers._

“You…” she says, struggling for breath. “You make… _really_ good sounds, Eiffel,” she says.

Trust her to only realise now that she has a voice kink.

His hand splays on her hip. “Comm officer,” he says, high pitched and breathy. “Kind of my job.” He licks his lips and makes a face, like he’s going to regret what he’s about to say but can’t stop himself.

She knows that expression too damned well. 

“Do you… want me to… make some more of them?” he asks. She runs her other hand under his shirt, fingers feeling light, wiry hairs on his stomach. “Because I’m totally going… ah I’m … uh… going to… sweet and sugary fuck Commander you’re going to…”

“The only sounds I’m interested in you making right now, Eiffel, don’t have words in them.”

“Oh…hahaha, oh god… oh... _thank you.”_

It’s really fucking hard to give head in space. She actually thinks there are regulations about it in the handbook, but all she can manage to work out in her current state is the need to wedge Eiffel in a corner and brace her own legs against systems that are probably not going to take kindly to it as she strips his pants down enough to take him in her mouth. 

She probably shouldn’t have bothered, since it takes about ten seconds before he comes. Reguation 239 states that all semen needs to be contained or swallowed, and the last thing she wants is a ball of Doug Sperm floating about the comms room until they can fetch the vacuum to suck it up, so she swallows, even though it’s not her favourite taste in the world, and Doug lets out a satisfied sigh that would make anyone who knew him think he’d finally managed to find a way to smoke in space.

She figures that’s it, that they’re done, and starts to drift away, but he grabs her hand and pulls her back to him, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

It’s… well. He’s not the best. There’s a lot of tongue and a few clashes of teeth and she knows part of it is because of the way no gravity means it’s hard to get a purchase but she’s grateful, she really is, that he’s grateful and she tries to pull away but then his hand snakes beneath her loose pants and… oh… oh wow.

He is _very_ good with his fingers. 

“Come on now, Commander,” he breathes into her ear, and fucking hell if that isn’t the lowest voice he’s ever managed and fucking hell if it doesn’t hit her right in the clit, the same way his fingers are spreading her and working her and making her want to gasp. “I’m not _entirely_ without manners.”

She really can’t do anything but hold on to the comms panel and try not to scream. And then she stops trying not to scream as his fingers do _that_ and his tongue at her throat does something else and she comes so blindingly white she thinks she might have just passed out for a second.

They’re floating, It’s awkward. But she’s… feeling pretty damned good. She swallows.

He’s trying really hard to get his pants done up again.

The comm splutters. “Is our touch session over then, dear crew?” Kepler’s voice is pretty much the most unarousing thing Renee has ever heard.

“Sir, we.. ah…”

“We hugged it out, sir,” Doug says, sounding a lot more like his regular cheerful self. “Just as ordered.”

“Lovely,” Kepler says. “Let’s hope that this leads to an increase in morale and productivity.”

“I’m sure it won’t hurt, sir,” Doug says.

The comm cuts out and they look at each other for a long moment.

“I’m not saying anything if you’re not,” Eiffel says then.

She swallows. “Good,” she says. “That’s… good.”

 


End file.
